


It Ends with Property Damage, Too

by uglyNicc



Series: Property Damage [1]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Alien Sex, Biting, Choking, Come Marking, Comeplay, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Excessive Amounts of Come, Frottage, I think that's all the tags, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rare Pairings, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Scratching, Size Difference, Size Kink, Xeno, Xenophilia, as always I do what I want as far as krogan phisiology is concerned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglyNicc/pseuds/uglyNicc
Summary: Whatever Drack and Scott have, it's been working.But after rescuing the Salarian ark and Pathfinder, the Krogan can't forgive the choice Ryder made on the Arcon's flagship.
Relationships: Nakmor Drack/Male Ryder | Scott
Series: Property Damage [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199630
Kudos: 3





	It Ends with Property Damage, Too

**Author's Note:**

> 1.) This fic had been fighting me for well over a year, no idea how it all suddenly came together in 2 days.
> 
> 2.) Couldn't remember the exact name of the root Drack said he liked, hope I was close!
> 
> 3.) This can be read without reading "It Starts with Property Damage," though this is the next installment.
> 
> 4.) As always, this is self-indulgent as heck because I needed more Krogan/Pathfinder. Enjoy!

"Drack, please -"

"Ryder, maybe give him some space?"

His crewmates' voices were muffled, though the hurt in Scott’s voice came through clearly. _Good_.

The Krogan stomped through the Tempest. He didn't know where he was going, as long as it was far away from the Pathfinder.

So that Drack didn't rip his head off.

He had sent those scouts out. They were tough, capable, some of them a bit young and more reckless than even the old Krogan had patience for, but good kids. And they'd just left them, to a fate worse than death. Left them to whatever horrors Kett 'Exaltation' entailed. 

Left them because Ryder thought one Salarian was more important. Right now, his scouts were being turned into monsters. Monsters to be used against them, that Drack might end up having to put down himself.

Fists clenched, Drack let out a bellowing roar. He was head butting the wall outside the cargo bay before the thought fully took form in his brain. Metal crunched around his thick skull, the vibrations of the impact spreading through his plates. It did little to relieve the rage and sadness boiling within him, and if possible, made him feel even more helpless. Here was the oldest Krogan in Helus, blasted halfway to hell and back, held together by nuts and bolts, not even able to save a few of his own people. 

Unclenching his fists, he pulled away from the wall and the sizeable crater left by his head. No one came to investigate the noise, probably afraid to. It was quiet, the rest of the crew on the upper deck, wisely giving the Krogan a wide berth. 

_Stupid_ , Drack thought, head down. Did they think Drack just needed a few minutes to get over it? That he’d be alright tomorrow? That enough Krogan died everyday, their deaths shouldn't bother him?

He wasn't about to leave either. Sure, there might be a use for someone like him back at the Krogan colony, but...

With a defeated sigh, Drack plodded towards the crew quarters, to let his anger stew, before he broke anything else. 

  
~

  
Shore leave couldn't come quickly enough. Things had been tense on the Tempest the past week, with Drack unable to even look Ryder in the eye, opting instead to leave any room the Pathfinder entered. 

He'd expected Lexi, maybe even Vetra, to try reasoning with him, to try talking sense into him. Lexi, aside from her usual fussing over his prosthetics and implants, largely let him be, though she couldn't mask the worried glint in her eyes.

Vetra, similarly said little to try easing the Krogan's anger. The two of them continued as before, idly chatting about their family members back on the Nexus, of gossip from Sid and rants about Tann from Kesh. Only once, sharing an amicable silence as they cleaned their guns, did Vetra shoot him a hesitant look, eyes sharp behind the blue light of her visor.

"He made a choice, Drack. He had to."

"Doesn't make it right."

Nothing more was said on the subject, and their comfortable silence resumed, though Drack frowned a little deeper while he worked. Kallo’s nasal voice sounded over the ship’s comm to announce they'd be docking with the Nexus soon. Not Drack's favorite place to be, but at least he could catch up with Kesh, and the drinks at the Vortex bar had been getting marginally better. 

As he stepped into the hall, he saw Ryder emerging from the Pathfinder's quarters. Catching sight of Drack, Ryder paused in the doorway, mouth open, about to speak, before snapping shut.

The usual wave of irritation rose up within the Krogan before he pushed his way past the rest of the crew to the airlock.

Under the bright, artificial sunlight of the docking area, the crew dispersed, weaving different paths through the courtyard. Drack had a mind to get a good stiff drink when a voice called out after him.

"Excuse me? Excuse me!"

_Not right now_ , Drack groaned. He debated not stopping, to let his heavy footsteps carry him far away from this. But he stopped, turning to face the Salarian jogging up to him. 

He remembered her, but she offered "Pathfinder Raeka," as introduction, nodding her head in greeting. "You were part of the human Pathfinder's squad, on the Kett flagship."

Drack huffed in annoyance, shuffling on the spot. "Yeah that was me," he answered gruffly.

Raeka straightened into an official stance, hands behind her back, tone professional but sincere. "I wanted to thank you, personally, for all that you did."

Drack wanted to be angry, wanted to spit in her face, to curse her for not dying back on that ship. It was harder to hate her for being alive when she was standing right there, being kind and magnanimous.

Undeterred by the Krogan's silence, the Salarian Pathfinder continued. “What you did for me and my people is something I can’t ever repay, but you have my gratitude and co-operation, whenever you need it.”

Unable to shut her out, unable to work up the sustained rage he'd felt every time he looked at Ryder since that mission, the Krogan let her words wash over him. It was quiet, and he realized she'd stopped talking. Meeting her gaze, slowly, looking into those large, inky black eyes, Drack felt numb. She wasn't asking him for anything, wasn't trying to diminish the Krogan lives lost. She was simply, genuinely happy to be alive, that the Salarian Ark was safe, and wanted to thank Drack for the part he played.

She was treating him with respect, like an ally, something the old Krogan wasn't used to.

"Don't sweat it," he managed, lamely. "I got somewhere to be."

"Of course. Thank you, again." 

With a creaking in his artifical hip, he turned and stomped away. 

  
~

  
Drack was very nearly hungover, which was a feat in and of itself, considering the weak swill peddled at the Nexus' only bar. Kesh had dropped by after hearing he was on the station, and had joined him in a few rounds.

"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" His granddaughter asked, her rumbling voice lightly curious as she tipped her glass back. Grumbling something along the lines of “none of your business,” he only rolled his eyes once while Kesh told him of the special plant Vorn had developed as a gift for her. They drank and caught up until Kesh excused herself to return to her duties.

A lone Krogan drinking at the bar gave off enough ominous energy that no one bothered Drack. He liked the bartender here, Dutch, solely for the fact the man loathed small talk, and handed Drack his refills with nothing more personal than a sour glance.

Vision clouded with drink, Drack glanced toward the entrance as it erupted with rowdy cheers and boisterous laughter. He immediately regretted it. 

A small crowd - Human, Salarian, Turian, Asari, even a couple Angara - flanked Ryder as they burst into the bar. "Drinks all around!" Someone shouted, another thumping the Pathfinder on the back. "To celebrate Ark Paarchero's rescue!"

Grudgingly, Dutch, the ever put upon bartender, poured the drinks, eagerly scooped up by the new arrivals.

Glasses clattered as they were raised and toasted in the air around Ryder, who was looking slightly embarrassed but pleased nonetheless. 

"To the Pathfinder!"

"To Ryder!"

As Scott brought his glass to his lips, his hand froze mid-way. The joy instantly drained from his face as he laid eyes on Drack. Wobbling slightly, the Krogan held his gaze, leathery brow knit in a deep scowl. He was drunk, but the regret in Ryder’s eyes cut through the haze of booze.

"Put it on my tab, Dutch," Drack bellowed, teetering a bit as he stepped away from the counter.

Dutch made a fuss about the bar "not doing tabs," which he dropped as the Krogan swayed and stormed away, ignoring him completely.

Back turned to the bar, the old veteran's shoulder plates tingled uncomfortably. Whether it was from the tinge of shame he felt for storming out like some petulant pup, or the feel of Ryder's eyes following him out, he wasn't sure.

Stumbling back to the ship, clumsily shedding his armour piece by piece, Drack dropped onto a crew bunk he hoped was unoccupied, as nothing was getting him up once he was down for the count.

The pain he was in upon waking had more to do with the position he'd slept in than the alcohol. Chest and belly sinking into the sheets, neck jutting out at an odd angle, It felt like his limbs were made of wood planks, stiff and brittle where he'd star-fished on the tiny bed. 

Unwelcome, memory of the Pathfinder's bed flitted into his groggy brain. Still not built for Krogan, but comfortable, Drack remembered waking up before Ryder, the usual ache in his bones, rolling onto his side to drape his good arm over the human's shoulder. 

Pushing the image out if his mind, Drack began the difficult task of getting up. Getting out of bed was usually a noisy affair for him, but if anyone was still asleep nearby, they'd get an especially loud wakeup call as the Krogan grunted and groaned and creaked his way off the mattress.

After some minutes, Drack was able to shift into a sitting position, hump bumping against the top bunk as he slouched on the bed's edge. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around and was thankful no appeared to be around, his discarded armour still littering the floor.

Whether they were off on the Nexus, or still giving him his space, he didn’t care, he was just happy to be alone. Attention turning to his artificial hip, he rubbed the tough skin and scales to try easing the aching muscles. He stomped his foot a few times, trying to rouse his uncooperative limbs into motion.

No idea how long he'd been asleep, Drack assumed it was either a very short or very long stretch of time, given the lack of activity on the Tempest.

Still in the snug fitting undersuit worn under his armour, Drack plodded through the lower deck to the kitchen. He wasn't especially hungry, but the light movement helped get his body working again. 

After the encounter with Raeka and seeing Ryder at the bar, the time alone also gave him space to clear his head, to address unwelcome thoughts he'd drowned under fury, sadness, and old grudges.

Rummaging through the fridge for the krokoro root he'd stashed away for a special snack, Drack knew he wasn't ready to forgive Ryder. Choosing a Salarian over a group of Krogans had salted all the old scars from the Milky Way, where his people were deemed worthy of punishment, no matter their contribution to galactic civilization, left to death and stagnation. 

Somewhere in his last beating heart, he knew Ryder had done more for him since they arrived in Helus than anyone else he knew, that the human actually wanted a future for the Krogan. It was Ryder who had helped him expose Spender's treachery. It was Ryder who had helped him rescue the stolen seed vault and that idiot botanist, Vorn. It was Ryder, once again, who had solidified allegiance with Morda, letting the Krogan colony determine their own fate in this galaxy, not through bloodshed and defiance, but as sovereign allies.

But he couldn't just dismiss the Pathfinder's decision back on the Kett ship. Those scouts were good Krogan, strong, some with family here in Heleus. The good Ryder had done outweighed the bad, there was no question, but Drack took the choice to save Raeka personally, and it stung. 

Krokoro root located, the Krogan raised it to his mouth and took a bite, relishing the satisfying crunch. Munching on his snack, he wandered aimlessly, thoughts still muddled. The cargo bay doors whooshed open as he took another bite, not realizing at first that he wasn't alone. 

On the other side of the room, parked Nomad between them, Ryder's back was turned to him. Taking no notice of the visitor, Ryder continued on with his tasks. It looked like he was taking inventory, examining the wall of crates, bending down to swipe his fingers over a data pad resting on the floor.

With the human unaware of his presence, Drack debated turning tail and leaving. Reluctantly, he stayed, figuring he'd evaded Ryder long enough.

Still reluctant to announce his presence, Drack finished eating, watching Ryder take stock of their provisions. Moving along the wall, toeing the datapad along the floor as he went, Scott examined serial numbers, made notes on his pad, and moved on. Occasionally, he'd pull down a box to examine the contents, hefting it back onto the pile, replacing the mesh net that kept their supplies from shifting during flight.

Boring work, as far as Drack was concerned. He watched this long enough and figured he could fall fast asleep where he stood.

Swallowing the last bite in his mouth, he ventured the rest of the way into the room, rounding the Nomad toward Scott. Before he could announce himself, his large foot came in contact with a toolbox some idiot had left open near the vehicle, upturning it with a deafening clatter and rain of swears from the Krogan.

Scott yelped and wheeled around, kicking his datapad across the floor in the process. Body tense and eyes wild with surprise, the human relaxed when he saw who it was.

"Drack, you scared the shit out of me," Ryder laughed, nervously. Over the initial fright, his eyes darted away from Drack’s. Fidgeting, as if suddenly unsure what to do with his hands, Scott turned back to the wall of cargo, fiddling with the mesh binding, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder at the Krogan.

"Did...did you need something?"

"No," Drack answered, cursing himself for how petulantly that came out. He sounded like a pouting child. 

"Just... muscles are stiff. Taking a walk ‘round the ship."

Nodding, Scott looked down at the floor, still going through the motions of adjusting the crates.

An uncomfortable silence fell, with Drack lumbering between the Nomad's front fender and the cargo bay lift, Scott continuing his show of busywork.

"Where is everyone?" Drack grumbled, kicking a wrench back toward the scattered pile of tools.

"Nexus," Ryder answered shortly. "Everyone's still celebrating..."

Scott's nervous movements stilled, and he dropped his hands to his sides with a sort of finality. He took a deep breath and slowly turned, meeting the Krogan's gaze.

"Drack... I'm so sor-"

Drack growled. "Save it, Ryder," he snapped. "You've done this song and dance already, when we got back from the Arcon’s ship. I don't need a replay.”

"I mean it Drack, I didn't want to -" Scott was stepping towards him, face twisted in a pained grimace. 

"I'm not asking you to forgive me but -"

Something broke in Drack. Moments earlier, he thought he'd made some sense of his anger, come to some sort of terms with it. But now, somehow, the plea in Ryder's voice was cutting away his reason, through any semblance of rational order he’d dumped his thoughts into.

Charging forward, Drack jabbed a stubby finger into Scott's chest, his scowling lips mere inches from the Pathfinder's face. 

"One Pathfinder. _One_. A whole ark full of Salarians rescued, but you had us go back for one more!”

Ryder held his ground, lips drawn in a firm, resolute line.

"I stand by my choice, Drack. I have to. I can't bring your scouts back, I want to but I can't!"

Volume raised, his voice was still even, controlled. Just like Raeka, there was only sincerity, no hidden agenda. Ryder meant what he said, was torn up over the outcome of his actions, that was obvious, but still Drack couldn't reconcile what happened.

With a disgusted noise of frustration, Drack made to turn away. A firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

“C’mon, Drack, please! If you wanna scream at me or something, just do it. It's better than you shutting me out like this."

"And what good'll that do, huh?" Without any conscious intent, Drack had marched Ryder back against the wall of crates, his stance menacing, snarling. "Will that make you feel better? Make you feel less guilty?"

Ryder's face was beginning to flush with his own anger. "For fuck's sake, Drack! It's not about me! I know what I did and I’m sorry!”

Their voices filled the empty cargo bay, echoing off the walls. They were both holding their own, immovable, in each other's faces, refusing to back down. Scott may have looked like a kicked puppy when Drack had entered, but now the human was just as worked up.

Teeth barred, Drack's voice rose. "Save it, kid. There's no easy fix for betrayal -"

"I had to make a choice, Drack!"

"And it was a shitty choice, Ryder!!"

They were fully screaming at each other now, Drack's voice bellowing, his puffed out chest pushing Scott back into the crates. Less than half the size of the Krogan, Ryder’s face was raised defiantly as he fired back.

Anger breaking like a wave smashing against the shore, Drack roared and punched a hole through one of the crates behind Scott. Withdrawing his fist, a dozen cans of machine oil rained out from the battered container, rolling across the floor loudly.

Scott hadn't flinched, despite the proximity of his head to where Drack’s punch landed. Unexpectedly, he shoved Drack, sending the Krogan back a mere half-step in surprise.

"That gonna help, huh Drack? Need a bit of destruction to ease the pain?”

Scott reached down, picked up one of the cans, and chucked it at the Krogan. It bounced off his hump, the impact nothing more than a dull echo.

"Then go ahead, let it out!”

"I'm not playing with you, brat!”

Another can of motor oil hit him in the shoulder, the blow still nothing but an irritation despite the force Ryder had flung it. Swatting the human’s hand as it reached for another projectile, one of the cans crunched under the Krogan’s weight, slick contents splattering. Slipping in the mess, Drack careened into the wall of crates, knocking several loose. Thundering to the floor, packaged food and munitions rained out from upturned and damaged containers. 

Roaring a string of curses, Drack hit out with his good arm, his elbow connecting with Ryder's midsection. 

The human doubled over with a wheeze, blindly kicking out at the Krogan. The blow only served to piss Drack off more. Doing his best to shake the oil off his foot, Drack stood, picking Ryder up by the front of his shirt.

Defiantly, Ryder took another swing, this time a right hook, catching Drack in the cheek before his back was slammed against the hood of the Nomad. Coughing, Ryder's hands closed over Drack's fists at his collar. 

"Th-that all you got?"

The deafening beat of blood hammered in Drack’s skull. Knuckles clenched, he dragged the human across the hood of the vehicle before tossing him to the floor.

Scott's shirt ripped open, momentum sending the Pathfinder skidding toward the lift.

Breathing hard and seeing red, Drack trampled the slew of items under foot as he followed after Ryder, already scrambling to his feet, chest bared with his shirt hanging in tatters.

Undeterred by the fact he wasn’t even half Drack’s size, Scott lurched forward with a yell, tackling the Krogan around the midriff. Drack, foot still slick with oil, toppled backward, his hump hitting the deck with a resounding thud. 

Bleeding from the corner of his mouth, teeth tinged with red, Ryder crawled over him. 

"You're pissed, I get it," he whispered before dropping an elbow into the Krogan's stomach. Drack yelled in fury, grabbing the smaller man and throwing him off. Ryder landed on one of the already damaged crates, which shattered under his back, some kind of powdery food mix sifting out.

Scott rolled gingerly onto his side, his breath sending the powder up in a cloud of dust. “Take it out on me."

"I'm not gonna hurt you kid," Drack panted, rocking on his hump to help propel himself upright. 

At first he was just mad, the nerve of this kid picking a fight with him, after the shit he'd already pulled. Drack wasn't stupid though. Quick to anger, stubbornly holding onto grudges, yes. But he saw what Ryder was doing.

Looming over Ryder, who hadn’t quite recovered from his fall, Drack placed a foot on his chest, forcing him back down, the pressure making the human gasp and claw at the Krogan's leg.

He ground his heel down, making Ryder grapple harder with his leg, struggling for breath.

"But you asked for it."

Ryder let out a gasping laugh as Drack released him. 

"Do...do your worst, old man."

Shakily, Ryder stood, and in a second Drack had him pinned against the wall, his stubby fingers tightly gripping the human's throat. 

Growling, Drack leaned in, voice a low rumble. “How much did ya think this choice through, _Pathfinder_?” Venom dripped from his words, hissed into the human's ear. Scott shuddered as the spikes on Drack's chin scraped against his cheek and jaw, leaving angry red streaks in their wake. 

Without waiting for an answer, Drack sunk his teeth sunk in, marring the junction between Ryder’s neck and shoulder. His teeth were blunt, but his incisors cut into the supple flesh, the coppery taste of human blood blooming in his mouth. 

Startled, Ryder cried out, hands clutching at Drack, body arching against the Krogan's. Groaning against the smooth skin, Drack lapped at the shallow wounds as he pulled back to eye level with Scott. 

"On your knees."

His fingers loosened and Scott sputtered for breath, sliding down the wall to do as he was told. Trapped between the Krogan and the wall, Scott looked up the length of Drack’s body expectantly.

Pulling the zipper of his suit down to his navel, the Krogan peeled the snug material from his upper body down past and over his hip spurs.

His plates were already loose, and he pressed his pelvis forward, bumping Ryder's jaw. Message received loud and clear, Scott used the little room he had to manoeuvre, pressing his mouth between the plates. Ryder tongued the opening, tip of his nose pressed against the ridged plates of the Krogan's torso, his eyes on Drack’s. Threading his fingers through Scott's hair, Drack kept his hips tilted forward, his length slowly coaxed from it's confines.

Drack hummed appreciatively, the sensitive area rarely getting this kind of attention. He felt the wriggling warmth of Scott's tongue against the blunt tip of his cock, and dug his hand into Ryder's hair. His growing hard on pushed past the plates, directly into the wet, welcoming heat of Scott's mouth.

Head thrown back as his cock slid further into Scott's mouth, Drack swore under he is breath. He felt the human's fingers on this thighs, felt the vibrations running through his shaft as Scott swallowed and moaned around him. 

Scott's eyes watered as he did his best to accommodate the growing length, a trickle of saliva dripping past his lips.

Gripping Scott's hair to hold his head in place, Drack pulled his hips back, just enough to give the human a bit of a breather before rocking back into the human’s sucking mouth. Ryder sputtered, throat clenching as he swallowed, ridges of the thick length gliding over his tongue.

Thinking he'd been pretty gentle so far, Drack shallowly rocked his hips, forcing as much of his fully hard and extended cock into Ryder’s mouth. Lips stretched around Drack’s girth, overwhelmed as it pressed deeper into his throat, Scott dug his fingers into the Krogan’s legs.

"C'mon kid," Drack purred, thrusting forward as much as he dared, fucking Scott's mouth. He snaked his hand down, taking hold of the base of his cock, stroking what Ryder couldn't take. "Not tappin' out already, are ya?" 

The shift from anger to arousal had been subtle. The impotent rage that’d been weighing on him was focused into action, energy channelled into getting off, his aggression targeted, precise. He knew what Ryder hoped to accomplish, offering himself up like this, and while it was childish and mean, it might work.

Things wouldn't be ok between them, not for a while, but this was a start.

Ryder's nostrils flared as he struggled to breathe while Drack pressed in as far as he dared. Blinking back tears as he fought against his gag reflex, the Pathfinder’s palm slapped against Drack's hip in submission.

Clicking his tongue, Drack eased up. "Disappointed in ya, kid."

Yanking the Pathfinder's hair, Drack regretfully pulled out, threads of saliva connecting them as he slipped from Ryder’s mouth. Pressing the wet tip of his cock against Ryder's cheek, he dragged the head over the younger man’s abused lips, slicking it through the saliva dripped down his jaw. Still gasping for breath, Scott nuzzled the hard shaft, lips parted, tongue darting out to taste each teasing pass of the Krogan's length. 

Swearing loudly as he was lifted by the hair to his feet, Ryder had little reprieve as he was shoved against the wall, knocking what little air he had left out of his lungs.

Drack pressed flush against the smaller man, his shaft rubbing against the other man’s crotch and abdomen. He could feel the rough edges of his torso plates catching and scratching over the smooth skin exposed by Scott’s ripped open shirt. Ryder’s back arched against the wall, fingers clutching at the lip of Drack's hump plating as he wrapped his legs around the krogan’s waist as best he could. Pulling their bodies closer with his legs, Drack could feel Scott’s erection bumping against his, pants tented as they rutted against each other.

With a growl in Scott's ear, Drack pulled them back from the wall, carrying Ryder over to the disturbed piled of crates, dropping his squirming bundle on a large, waist-high box of munitions. 

Painfully hard, Drack wanted nothing more than to bend Ryder over the crate and fuck him so hard he'd be feeling it for days. But he wasn't in the mood for the usual, carefully lubricated penetration, and despite working through their issues this way, Drack didn't actually want to hurt the kid. 

The thought made the corner of his wide mouth turn up in an amused grin, as he untangled himself from Ryder to examine how much damage he’d already done.

There were scrapes all over Scott's chest and abdomen, some deep enough that scarlet beads of blood welled to the surface. Bruises were forming where Drack had bit him, thin trickles of blood seeping from the deeper teeth marks.

Despite the rough treatment, Scott looked ecstatic, legs spread, a wet spot blooming from the tent in his pants from the leaking tip. Part of Drack thought the kid shouldn’t be enjoying this so much.

Running his hands down Scott's chest, blunt claws leaving fresh, red welts over the smooth skin, Drack leaned in close, tonguing the bruises on the human's shoulder. Back against the cold, metal crate, Scott writhed pitifully, helplessly. 

Unable to hold back any longer, Drack pressed his palm against Ryder's throat, not hard enough to stop airflow but enough to keep him still. Easily ripping apart Ryder's pants with his other hand, Drack tossed the ruined garment over his shoulder. 

"Legs up,” Drack snarled.

Obeying, Ryder lifted his legs, ankles resting against the rough plating on either side of Drack's hump. 

With no further explanation, Drack manoeuvred both of the human’s legs onto one of his broad shoulders, wrapping his free arm tightly around the closed limbs.

"Drack, wh - ”

The Krogan tensed his fingers around Scott's throat, hips inching forward. Eased by spit, pre and sweat, Drack’s cock squeezed between Ryder's thighs. The tight press of flesh around him elicited a rumbling hum in Drack's throat. It was much different than being inside the human, Drack thought, teeth grit as his arms squeezed Ryder's legs tighter, putting more of his weight behind his thrusts. But it got the job done, allowing him free reign to be rough, to let loose, to chase the delicious friction, using the Pathfinder as little more than a toy. 

Scott gripped the edge of the crate, white knuckled, as Drack held him, fucking his thighs, rough plating scuffing and marring the back of his legs, the Krogan’s heavy length sliding and rubbing against Ryder’s. 

Pleasure rippled through Drack’s body, coursing like a drug through his veins, heat pooling in his gut and quad as he chased release. The scratch of metal punctuated Drack's thrusts, the crate scraping the floor as it jostled forward from the onslaught.

Looking down, pupils blown and breath ragged, it was obvious Scott was enjoying this as well. His hands clawed at Drack's hips, willing him to move faster, needing more and closer contact, the Krogan’s thick cock grinding maddeningly against his as it slid between his thighs. The hand on his throat did nothing to stop the pleas and praises spilling past Ryder’s lips. 

The Krogan had never felt this kind of need, the desire to consume, to possess. It was violent, aggressive, fuelled by raw fury and lust. He both hated and loved Ryder in this instant.

Wrapped up in his own pleasure, he hadn't noticed Scott straining against him, crying out as his cock twitched, held tight against his own skin under the press of Drack's, spurts of come splaying across his stomach.

Ragged breaths wracking his massive frame, Drack watched as his length, thrusting through the snug passage made by the Pathfinder's thighs, slid in and out of the sticky mess, smearing come across Ryder’s navel. The slap of skin and plates and metal reached a fever pitch as Drack came with a low, bellowing growl. 

The motion of his hips stilled as he spilled against Ryder's abdomen and chest, come pooling, trickling down the human's sides, the load incomparable to a human's. Riding the high of his orgasm, Drack nuzzled Scott's legs, teeth lazily nipping at the toned skin. There was something satisfying and feral, marking his partner this way; the almost obscene amount of Krogan come painting the human’s skin, skin already marked and claimed in a patchwork of cuts and bruises.

When the warmth in his plates ebbed away and was replaced by the screaming protest of his ancient muscles, Drack slowly lowered Scott's legs and let go his throat. 

Ryder stayed where he was, legs dangling limply off the crate, catching his breath, before easing himself up on his elbows. A disgruntled noise escaped him as drying come shifted and dripped down his body.

"I need....a shower."

Chuckling, Drack pulled his undersuit back on, feet crunching through the mess on the floor. "You and me both, kid. And the cargo bay's seen better days."

It looked like a bomb had gone off. Crates upturned, crumpled cans of motor oil floating in oozing puddles, spilled provisions, tools and supplies scattered everywhere - the place was a disaster. 

"Any sign of my pants?"

"Nope."

"Great."

Falling into their easy banter felt good, normal. Still, Drack crossed his arms over his chest, giving the Pathfinder a stern look. “Listen, Ryder. I’m still pissed about what happened.”

Smile faltering, Scott nodded, eyes downcast. "I know, Drack."

After regarding the human, who looked decidedly worse for wear, Drack sighed, lending a hand to pull the other man to his feet. Scott murmured his thanks, making a great effort not to pull another face as the wet mess dripped down his legs.

"But...I'll get past it. Eventually."

"After kicking my ass a few more times, maybe?" Ryder asked meekly, weak smile pulling at his lips.

Drack huffed, gently lowering his head to bump it against Ryder's.

"Something like that, kid."


End file.
